In this We Hear the Light

John B. Lee

at a brilliant hour
in the crumbs of day
when light is new
and white things shine
the glass of bottles
the glaze of pane
the shoulders and lapels
of women and of men
angel away
in the starch of cloth
like creatures
we beatify, the faces
vanish in the glaze
of inner suns
the thrilling fire of the
dark vestments
of the soul
the bread we break
the wine and water
lubricious in our talk
the darkness of the hair
upon the shoe-spoon of the nape
along our arms
the hands we have
grown luminous with touching
air, a holding up
and clutching round
a gripping of the pools
and strands
of luminescent water thoughts of star
and moon
and lovely incandescent
phosphorescent glow
one smoky wither
and one word a wound
made visible by that
exhale-a burning fragrant
and so seen and smelled
and thereby lingering
aroma in the language of
the lungs and tongue
one vocalized serenity of light

we have the light in this
in this we are the source
of saying "day" and "I"
and "when"
in this, we listen to the loss

Poem 1 | Poem 2 | Poem 3 | Poem 4 | Poem 5 | Poem 6

John B. Lee's works copyright © to the author.